“Why don’t you have a look around in here,” Ben suggested, “while I try the bedroom.”
She nodded, wondering if the possibility there was a body in it had occurred to him, too. She didn’t ask, though, and when all was quiet after he’d gone into it, she knew they were okay in that department.
There was nothing sitting on the couch, chair or television set, and nothing on the coffee table but a TV guide, a remote and a couple of unpaid bills. The end table held a stack of magazines—Penthouse, Playboy and Soldier of Fortune. But no clues.
Wandering into the kitchen, she glanced over at the phone on the counter. Beside it were a message pad and small address-phone number book—lying open.
Her fingertips tingling with excitement, she quickly crossed to the counter. The pad was blank, so she turned her attention to the book. It was open at the G page, and there were half a dozen names on it. Some had addresses noted, some only phone numbers.
One of these people was likely the last person Rossi called before he disappeared. But which one?
She started playing eenie-meenie with the names, then remembered something she’d once seen in a movie. Grabbing a pencil from beside the message pad, she picked up the receiver and pressed the redial button, listening carefully as the phone dialed. Once she’d jotted down the numbers, she slowly lowered the receiver and searched to see if the phone number corresponded with any on the page he’d left open.
It did. The name written beside the number was simply Grace. But the fact he’d called some woman didn’t necessarily mean that—
“Monique?” Ben said.
When she turned, he was standing in the kitchen doorway, his eyes alive with excitement.
“I know where he went. Look what I found in the bedroom garbage”.
He handed her a crumpled piece. of paper. There was a flight number written on it, and the words, Arrives La Guardia at 7:17.
Her heart skipped a beat and she gestured toward the book. “Ben, the last person he phoned was whoever that Grace is. And I lived in Manhattan long enough to know that the area code 718 means she lives somewhere in the boroughs. But that’s an awfully big somewhere.”
Ben stared at the page for a minute, then said, “Why is she under G for Grace, when everyone else is listed by surname?”
“Because she’s someone he knows well?”
“Or maybe… Monique, call that number and ask for Grace Rossi. I’ve got a hunch it’s his sister.”
She pressed the redial button again. The phone rang a couple of times, then a man answered.
“Is Grace Rossi there, please?”
“Na, she’s out right now.”
“Oh, is this her husband?”
“Na, she ain’t married.”
“Well, would you please tell her Carol phoned?”
“Ya, sure.”
Monique put down the receiver. “I think we’ve found him.”
Chapter Eight
Saturday, February 8
10:07 a.m.
From the time they got to New Orleans International until their flight actually departed, Ben was antsy as hell. Knowing you couldn’t get a gun through security, he’d packed it in a small suitcase—along with the snubby he’d gotten hold of for Monique. And even though checked luggage wasn’t X-rayed, he’d still been half expecting a dozen cops to suddenly surround them.
But once the plane took off and they left New Orleans behind, he started to relax. And after they arrived at La Guardia, he actually began thinking Lady Luck might be with them.
Among the G. Rossis listed in the Brooklyn phone directory was one with a number that matched Grace’s, so finding her address wasn’t even a minor challenge. And getting there was a simple taxi ride.
She lived just off Bedford Avenue, in a modest low-rise apartment building with an old-fashioned intercom that showed both the apartment number and occupant’s name beside the buzzer.
“G. Rossi, two-twelve,” he said, his heart beating a rapid tattoo as he gazed at the number. He was so close to Sandor Rossi he could almost smell the little bastard.
“I wonder if Rossi will recognize me with my disguise,” he added while they waited for someone to come in or out “He doesn’t know me well, but he does know me.”
Monique glanced at him, her gaze flickering from the baseball cap pulled low on his forehead to his growth of beard, then down over his bomber jacket, jeans and sneakers.
“I doubt he’ll recognize you. You look more like a Yankees fan in terminal need of a shave than anything else.”
He grinned. That was a hell of a lot better than looking like an escaped con.
When a woman with a little girl opened the door on their way out, he politely held it for them. Then he ushered Monique inside. They hurried up the stairs and along the second-floor hallway.
“Okay, you’re on,” he said, flattening himself against the wall beside the door and handing her the leather case. “That makes a great prop.”
She gave him a nervous smile, then patted both her wig and the snubby in her coat pocket. Finally, she knocked.
Ben heard footsteps in the apartment, followed by silence while someone was undoubtedly looking out at Monique. Eventually a woman said, “Yes?”
“Avon lady,” Monique told her.
“Sorry, I don’t need nothin’ right now.”
“Oh, then just let me give you a free sample of our newest fragrance. You’ll absolutely love it It’s the most wonderful product the company’s ever brought out”
“Well…all right.”
Ben held his breath while he listened to Grace Rossi slide the chain and unlock the door. The instant she opened it he wheeled into the doorway—grabbing her by the arm and slapping one hand over her mouth.
Within three seconds he and Monique were inside the apartment The door was closed again and Grace was backed up against the wall and staring at him with the look of a woman certain she was about to die.
“Listen,” he whispered to her. “I’ve got a gun, but nobody’s going to get hurt if you do what I say. I just want to talk to your brother.”
Part of the living room was visible down the short hallway ahead of them, its TV tuned to a loud cartoon show, and before he uttered another word, a man called from it “Grace? Who was at the door?”
“That’s Rossi,” Ben said quietly, glancing at Monique. “Cover her.”
Monique gingerly took the snubby from her pocket and pointed it at Grace.
“Not a sound when I let you go,” he said, slowly taking his hand away from her mouth.
He unclipped the Walther from his belt, then walked down the hall, quickly stepped into the living room and targeted Sandor Rossi.
Even though it was February, the guy was sitting around in only a tank top and sweat shorts, so he clearly wasn’t packing heat. For a split second he simply stared at Ben, then he went pale.
“Who are you?” he sputtered. “What do you want?”
“You don’t recognize me? Maybe you should have looked more closely when I was sitting at the defense table.”
“Oh, jeez! Ben!”
“Right, but take it easy. Everything’s going to be cool as long as you tell me who The Nose is.”
“Oh, jeez, I was only tryin’ to help.”
“Yeah, sure. So help. Who is he?”
Beads of sweat had appeared on Rossi’s forehead.
As he wiped them away, Ben said, “I’m counting. And if you’re not talking by the time I reach ten, I’ll shoot you in the knee then work my way up.”
“I…okay, Ben, okay. I’m gonna tell you the God’s truth here. The Nose is nobody. No, that’s not exactly what I mean. I mean he’s a dead man. Died last year. Carmine Franco.”
Ben mentally pictured Franco. He’d come to the house a few times, years ago, when he’d had business with Ben’s father. But even though Franco was part of the Dixie Mafia, he’d been an old man when he died. He hadn’t done much “business” in years.
“I do
n’t buy that,” Ben said at last “Why would Franco have wanted my father dead? Why would he have framed me?”
“He didn’t”
“Then why the hell are you talking about him? Who did set me up?”
“Ben, I don’t know.”
“Look, you keep playing games with me and I swear you’ll be as dead as Franco.”
“I… listen, I’m not play in’ games. God’s truth. I’m just tryin’ to explain that I don’t have a clue who popped your parents. Or who set you up for the fall. I don’t know a damn thing! Sayin’ Franco was behind what went down was just a plan I came up with.”
“A plan?”
“Yeah, I mean, he was dead, so what was the harm? See, I figured if I put the blame on somebody else they’d let you out I knew all along you wasn’t guilty and—”
“Sure you did,” Ben snapped, so much anger and frustration building inside him he could hardly contain it.
He’d been positive Rossi would have the answer he wanted But either the creep was a damn good actor or he was telling the truth. And if he really didn’t have a clue, this trip had been nothing but a waste of precious time.
“Ben, like I said, I was tryin’ to help you. The plan was gonna get me some cash and get you outta Angola, too.”
“You didn’t give a rat’s ass about getting me out of Angola, so what’s with the cash? Who paid you and for what?”
“To tell what I knew. To help you get a retrial.”
“But you just said you didn’t know a thing!”
“Ben?”
Monique’s voice startled him and he glanced to his left. She was still holding her gun on Grace, but they’d come into the living room.
“What?” he said, taking a step back so he could see Monique and keep an eye on Rossi at the same time.
Her expression, he realized after a second, was telling him to chill out
“We’re not in any hurry,” she said quietly. “So why don’t you let him start at the beginning and tell you the whole story.”
Exhaling slowly, Ben told himself she was right He’d be better off trying to calm down and letting the bastard talk. If he knew anything useful, it should come out.
“Okay,” he said, focusing on Rossi again. “Let’s hear it from the beginning.”
“Think you could stop pointin’ those guns at us first?”
Ben gestured Grace to go sit on the couch beside her brother, then lowered the Walther to his side.
Rossi immediately looked less like a frightened rodent, but Grace was obviously still scared spitless. She eased onto the very end of the couch—as far away from her brother as she could get.
“Well,” Rossi began, “the first thing is I knew all along you wasn’t guilty.”
It was the second time he’d said that, and even though he was probably lying it made Ben’s pulse quicken.
“See, I saw you at Maria’s. Just before the hit went down in the restaurant”
“What?”
Rossi nodded rapidly. “I did. I delivered somethin’ to Dominick that mornin’. And I was hangin’ around ‘cuz he wanted me to do somethin’ else for him later. So your Aunt Rose said would I mind goin’ and droppin’ some pictures off to Maria—in the meantime, like.”
Ben flashed back to that day. He’d gone to Maria’s to help her plan a party for their parents’ anniversary. And when he’d arrived, she’d been looking at pictures Dominick had taken at a recent family gathering.
“I was just gettin’ back in my car,” Rossi continued, “when you pulled up and went into Maria’s buildin’.”
“Are you serious?”
“God’s truth.”
“Then why on earth,” Ben said, trying not to sound half as furious as he felt, “didn’t you tell the cops that?”
“I…I was too scared to open my mouth at first. See, after I left Maria’s I went back to Dominick’s. So I was there when the stuff about the murders came on the TV. And Dominick went so nuts he kicked in the screen.
“The announcer was saying you’d done it, Ben, and I swear if you’d walked into that house Dominick would’ve strangled you with his bare hands. And you know how he goes when he’s in a rage. So I was scared that if I started sayin’ it wasn’t you he’d turn on me.”
“But you could have told the cops later! You could have come forward and testified! Your story would have backed up Maria’s. Dammit, Rossi, you’d have kept me out of Angola!”
“No, that jury didn’t believe Maria, so they sure as hell wouldn’t have believed a two-time loser like me.”
Staring at Rossi, all Ben could think was that if he really was a killer there’d be two more dead men in the world. Because right now he was feeling just the way he’d felt when he’d seen Spook grab Monique back in the swamp.
“Ben?” she said.
He looked at her.
“Rossi did what he did. We can’t change that. So let’s just get the rest of the story. What,” she went on, turning to Rossi, “made you eventually come forward? Why did you contact Ben’s lawyers and help get him the retrial?”
“Because I thought up the idea of pointin’ the finger at Carmine Franco. So it wasn’t just gonna be me sayin’ I saw Ben at Maria’s. I knew that wouldn’t be enough. But I figured that sayin’ I knew who was really behind the murders was.”
“But…” Monique paused, as if trying to get all the details straight in her mind. “I didn’t hear everything you said at the start,” she finally went on. “But there’s absolutely no truth to the part about this Carmine Franco? It’s a total fabrication?”
“A what?”
“She means did you make the whole thing up,” Ben snapped.
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Why?” Monique said.
“Because he figured it was a way of getting money” Ben muttered.
“From whom?”
That question, Ben realized as she asked it, had gotten lost among all the others.
“From whom?” He echoed her words—then leveled his gun at Rossi when the weasel merely shrugged.
Grace cringed into the corner of the couch.
Rossi quickly said, “Okay, okay. I got money from your sister. God’s truth.”
Ben nodded. He’d suspected Maria had been behind bribing Rossi, but when she hadn’t said anything about it he’d decided not to ask.
“I told her I’d seen you that day,” Rossi was going on. “Told her I knew Carmine Franco had set you up.”
“And you said you’d tell your story to my lawyers for a suitable price. You’re scum, Rossi, you know that?”
“But you changed your mind,” Monique pressed on, cutting Ben off before he could vent any more of his anger. “Why?”
Rossi shrugged again, then glanced at Ben and clearly decided another fast answer would be a good idea. “I got told to. In no uncertain terms.”
“Who told you?” Ben demanded. Finally, they were getting somewhere.
“Well…you’re not goin’ to like this, but it was Dominick. See, I was figurin’ that after so much time he’d be okay with what I was doin’. Maybe even be glad to find out his nephew hadn’t really murdered his own parents. But I was wrong.
“When he heard I’d helped get you a retrial, I thought he was gonna kill me. He told me you murdered his brother and prison was where you belonged. Said you should rot there for the rest of your life.”
Ben exhaled slowly, disappointment flooding him. They weren’t getting anywhere, after all. It wasn’t whoever had set him up that had made Rossi back down, it was Dominick.
And the fact he had wasn’t exactly surprising. Dominick DeCarlo wasn’t a man of either compromise or reason. He hadn’t spoken a word to Ben since the murders. And he hadn’t spoken to Maria, either— except to call her every name under the sun for swearing Ben had been with her that day.
As far as Dominick was concerned, Antonio and Bethany DeCarlo had been gunned down by their own son. And once Dominick believed something, it might as well be
carved in stone.
“See,” Rossi continued, “Dominick knew Carmine Franco didn’t have no grudge against your father. So he didn’t believe that part of my story. And he didn’t believe the part about me seein’ you at Maria’s, neither. He figured she just put me up to sayin’ that—to get the retrial. And he told me if I swore in court that I’d seen you, I’d be dead before the day was out”.
When Ben glanced at Monique, he could see his own thoughts mirrored in the brown depth of her eyes. And he could hear her silently asking the same question he was. Where on earth do we go from here?
5:51 p.m.
BEN WAS AS QUIET during the taxi ride from New Orleans International to the apartment as he’d been during the rest of the trip back from New York. He just didn’t feel like talking, and Monique had given up trying to make him.
Tracking down Sandor Rossi had gotten him absolutely nowhere. And despite the fact he’d threatened both Rossi and Grace with death if they opened their mouths, he knew Rossi would seriously consider tipping off the cops. He’d find the lure of that reward money awfully hard to resist.
Of course, Rossi didn’t have a lot of information. All he knew was that Ben had been in New York. And that he’d grown a beard.
But if Rossi did call the cops, he’d be sure to mention Ben had a woman with him. And that would mean they’d no longer be looking for a man on his own.
When the cab pulled up in front of the apartment, he told himself to stop worrying about what other people might do and concentrate on what he was going to do.
He still hadn’t figured that out But with any luck Farris Quinn had learned something that would help. Or maybe some of Dezi’s digging had paid off.
As soon as they got up to the apartment, Ben turned on the cell phone. It rang immediately—a mechanical voice telling him to check in for messages.
While Monique took off her Cleopatra wig and shook her own hair free, he called the message center. Both Maria and Dezi had phoned, but neither had anything new to report.
There was a third message, though. From Farris Quinn. And that was enough to start Ben’s adrenaline pumping.
The Valentine Hostage Page 10